


Late Nights Talks

by RedSoldierBeta



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gun Violence, Memory Loss, both of toms parents are human in this story, cause a friend mentioned it upset them :0, first fic on the site aaaaaaa, i have no clue how to tag this, its toms dad who dies, oh yeah, this was the result of a 2 AM conversation over how brutal the death would be if his dad was human, tord and edd are mentioned, uhh, warning matts mom is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 03:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9639434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSoldierBeta/pseuds/RedSoldierBeta
Summary: There were nights that Tom didn't sleep well.This was one of them.(Aka Tom and Matt need to talk some shit out)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Woah first post on ao3!! 
> 
> One of my friends designed human versions of Tom's parents and we both started wondering how the whole 'shot by a bear' thing might play out in this situation, and then this happened.
> 
> (sorry about the boring title lmao)

There were nights that Tom didn’t sleep well. 

Sometimes he’d have nightmares of gunshots and blood splatter and roaring, and he’d wake up in tears or to one of his housemates (Edd, usually) shaking him awake. Sometimes he’d just lie on his bed and think, unable to get his brain to stop thinking, stop remembering, to just  _ stop  _ long enough for him to fall asleep. The number of sleepless nights was far larger when he was a child, and resulted in him going to a therapist for a few years. (He still went. He didn’t tell either Edd or Matt, but every few months he’d still visit his therapist.)

Sleepless nights, like this one, tended to find Tom sitting on the couch, a bottle of Smirnoff in hand and whatever late night television happened to be playing silenced on the TV. It was fine.

He was  _ fine.  _ (Of course he wasn’t fine.)

A old  _ Professor Why  _ rerun was airing on the TV, and Tom’s half-empty bottle was quickly running down to just an empty bottle. He rubbed the neck of the bottle lazily with his thumb, frowning at the screen as the subtitles popped up out of time with the pictures.

Tom closed his eyes, leaned his head on the back of the sofa, and let his mind wander.

Of course, it wandered to bright blue skies, fishing poles, and a pair of overalls that didn’t fit as well as they could have. 

Tom must have been about eight or nine, going fishing with his father.

Tom kicked his legs happily, holding the fishing pole in both hands like his dad showed him to. Already the two of them had had some luck with the stream, with Tom having hooked three fish and his dad having hooked four. 

His dad shifted, turning the pole in his hands, before turning to look at Tom.

“Hey Tom?” Tom looked up, face falling into something appropriately quizzical. His dad smiled at the sight. “You’re having fun right?”

Tom’s face broke out into a grin, revealing his missing front tooth. 

“Yeah! I always have fun when i hang out with you dad,” Tom answered. He turned back to his fishing pole as it jerked away from him, reeling in another fish. Tom held it up, turning back to his dad.

“Dad look! I got another! We’re tied now,” he cheered, shoving it into his dad's face as his dad chuckled, reached over to unhook the fish. 

“That we are kiddo,” his dad answered, throwing the fish back into the stream. “I’ve gotta catch another one now.” Tom laughed, turning determinedly back to his own perch as he threw his line back out. 

“I’m gonna catch more than you and tell mom that I'm a better fishing man than you,” Tom taunted, leaning forward. His dad gasped in faux shock, placing a hand on his heart. 

“You wouldn’t do that to your old man would you?” he joked, adjusting his pole to the now one-handed grip. Tom just let out a little laugh, grinning up at his dad. The pair went back to fishing in comfortable silence, before a yell interrupted the peace. 

“ _ Look out!!”  _ Tom’s dad jumped, turning in the direction the shout came from and standing, his fishing pole forgotten on the ground. Tom stared up at his dad, knuckles turning white from his grip on his own pole. A bear burst out from the trees across the stream just as someone yelled “ _ That bears got a gun! _ ” Tom’s fingers went slack as the bear held the gun above his head and roared. 

“Tom, we’re fine. Bears shouldn’t be able to shoot guns. I need you to stand up slowly and start backing towards the road,” his dad instructed, already pulling himself up to try and make himself taller. Tom hesitantly agreed, curling his legs up underneath him to stand up, slowly. The bear roared, still holding the gun steady in its paws. 

Bear’s shouldn’t be able to fire guns. 

It shouldn’t have been able to happen. But Tom watched with horrified eyes as the bears claw hit the trigger. The gun must have been pointed in just the right direction that when the gun fired off, Tom’s dad fell like a rock. Tom froze as the bear dropped the gun in shock, roaring in distaste. Tom hardly noticed, hands shaking and eyes locked on his dad's form. Tears sprang to his eyes as he took one step forward, and then another. He took two more before collapsing to his knees in front of him. 

“Dad?” Tom whimpered, pressing his hands against his chest. “Dad, no, c’mon. Please get up,” he pleaded. 

Tom was well old enough to know what death was. It didn’t mean he wanted to accept it. 

He shook him, biting a lip.

“C’mon please  _ please  _ get up.” Tom shook his father again. “Please be okay. Please don’t be…” He stopped himself from going any further, running a hand under his nose as he sobbed. “You gotta beat me or I'm gonna tell mom I'm better at fishing,” he laughed bitterly. At no sign of movement, his jaw clenched and his body shook with another sob. 

“Dad  _ please _ .” He sniffed, tears rushing hot down his face. “Get up.”

Tom very briefly turned his head towards his dad's head, before looking away. A moment passed and he forced himself to look back again. His dad’s glasses lay to the side, knocked off his face and broken in two during the impact. Sniffing, Tom picked them up, before looking towards the road. 

_ Get help. _

Someone was bound to be there. Someone would help him. Tom forced himself to stand, ignoring the bear behind him as it started to sniff towards his father's corpse. He stumbled forward for two steps, took a hiccupping breath, then forced himself to move at a steady pace towards the road, his dad’s glasses still in his hands. 

Coming around the bend in the road at that moment happened to be someone he recognized. A kid from his school (what was his name, Matt?) and his mother. Tom opened his mouth to speak, but instead choked on another sob. The pair stopped, and the mothers lip curled. She looked past Tom, at the carnage that was his father, with the bear standing just over it, and a little further away, the discarded gun. 

She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. Turning to Matt (?) she sighed. 

“Matt,” she started, her tone accusatory. “Did you give guns to the bears again?” Tom saw her eyes flicker over and meet his own, and her lips pulled into a thin line. Matt shrugged his shoulders, smiling. 

“Yeah,” he called, rocking back and forth on his heels. For a moment he looked at Tom, still openly sobbing, and his face pulled into something almost regretful. “I didn’t mean to do anything bad.” Matt turned back to his mom, tilting his head and putting on a pitiful expression. “Am I gonna get in trouble?” 

The woman sighed, smiling at her son. 

“Aw, I could  _ never  _ stay mad at you!” Tom blinked, realizing what was happening. The woman caught his eye once more, looked back down at the carnage, and took Matt’s hand instead of offering to call someone. Tom opened his mouth, hoping to say something to get her assistance. 

“I, uh, ma’am,” he started lifting a hand. The woman pointedly ignored him and turned her back, beginning to walk down the road with Matt in tow. 

“Let’s go get some ice cream!” she cheered, and Tom watched as the two disappeared around a turn in the road, the two seeming a stark contrast from the scene they had just walked away from. 

Tom dug his hands into his dad’s glasses, turning back to face him and seeing that the bear had since left the corpse alone, instead wandering closer to the river and sniffing at the fish. 

Tom could get home. He knew he could. He and his father had walked the path many times, and yet… doing so would leave his father behind. Plus he was starting to get a bit dizzy from all the crying he’d done so far, and the tears hadn’t stopped coming. So Tom turned away from the path, and sat the the edge of the grass, burying his face into his knees.

Someone else would come help him.

The sound of a door opening and closing somewhere in the house jostled Tom out of the memory, and he found himself once more twenty-three, slightly tipsy, and living with the man who had turned his back when they were both children. Tom grimaced, tilting the bottle of Smirnoff back up to his lips. 

He wasn’t near drunk enough yet. 

He polished off the bottle and very quietly hoped that whoever else was awake wouldn’t be coming into the living room. 

When a few minutes passed and another door opened, Tom figured he was in the clear to be alone for another, what was it, three hours? Yep that clock definitely said 3:26 on it, and the TV was starting to show fewer and fewer things that Tom could find any sort of interest in. Groaning, he pushed himself off the couch, heading into the kitchen to get himself some more alcohol. 

The trip there and back was uneventful and Tom found himself back in virtually the exact same position not five minutes later. From somewhere in the house a toilet flushed. Tom took another drink of Smirnoff. The clock ticked to say 3:30. 

Whoever was up was now moving through the house, and Tom waited to hear the sound of their bedroom door closing. 

It never came. Instead, he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and cursed, slinking down on the couch and hoping to god that whoever else was up wouldn’t come into the living room. 

Tom took another gulp of Smirnoff. The footsteps slowed to a stop, before they began shifting closer.  _ Fuck.  _ Of course they would see the light of the TV. 

_ Please be Edd. _

Footsteps became the light rustle of fabric brushing against other fabric, and Tom slunk down further. Both Matt and Edd tended to realize far too late that they were fucking terrible at sneaking through the house, and Tom almost snorted at the thought of one of them stepping over-dramatically through the halls.

_ Please be Edd. _

All noise slunk to a stop and then-- “Tom?”

**_Fuck._ **

It wasn’t Edd. 

Matt stood in the entryway of the living room, his left hand placed absent-mindedly on the wall. Tom shut his eyes and pushed himself up, taking another swig of Smirnoff as he did. 

Matt cautiously made his way into the room. Without Edd, their friendship rocky at best, and neither one tended to know how to act around each other alone. He stopped about two feet away from the couch. 

“Why are you still up?” Tom mumbled something, rubbing his face in sudden exhaustion. 

“Couldn’t sleep. You?” he returned, leaning forward. Matt hesitated, grabbing at the sleeves of his sleep shirt nervously. 

“I just wanted to get a snack,” he explained. Tom turned his face, dark eyes looking significantly creepier in the low lighting of the room. 

“I’m not stopping you.” Matt heard the hint, but refused to take it, instead stepping closer. 

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Tom didn’t answer immediately, raising the bottle to his lips absentmindedly. Matt rubbed his hands together, glancing at the tv, showing some old rerun of a show he’s never seen. Finally Tom sighed, dropping his hands towards the floor, laying the bottom of the Smirnoff bottle on the ground. 

“Thinking about the past,” he muttered, leaving the bottle in favor of bringing both hands to rub at his face.

Matt bit a lip. He was no good at this. Edd had always been the best at listening and offering advice. Matt was no good at this but… well he couldn’t just  _ leave.  _ Matt made his way around the couch, sitting next to Tom and leaning forward, matching Tom’s posture. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Once more Tom hesitated, burying his fingers into his hair. 

“I keep thinking about the day my dad died,” he explained. “Ever since it happened it replays over and over again in my brain and. I can’t stop thinking about it sometimes and then I can't sleep,” Tom explained. Matt fiddled with his thumbs in response and for a moment the two sat in silence before Tom mumbled something. Matt sat forward.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” Tom glared, suddenly sitting up. 

“I said it was  _ your  _ damn fault he died in the first place and you didn’t even fucking  _ care! _ ” 

The room fell silent and for a moment both of them waited for the telltale signs that they’d woken up Edd. The shout seemed to echo in the house, and after a beat they both let out sighs. Tom stood up, prompting Matt to follow suit. 

“Tom, I--” Tom shrugged him off, hugging his arms in close and turning his back. Matt pulled his hand back, face full of grief, and the slightest bit of confusion. 

“I  _ know _ ,” Tom continued. “I know you don’t fucking many things about your childhood because of that stupid memory eraser gun Tord invented, and I begged Edd to not let you know this one. I begged him not to tell you that you used to give bears guns just to see what they’d fucking do and that you’re the reason I watched my dad  _ die. _ ” Tom stopped for a moment, breathing heavily. Matt’s mouth was opened just slightly, and his hand hung still in the air. 

“Why?” The word hung in the air, and Tom turned to look at Matt. 

“ _ Why?  _ Because I knew you had more important things to worry about, and because I didn’t want to bring back the worst years of my life just so you could remember that mistake.” Tom collapsed back down on the couch, Matt following. 

“... I’m sorry,” Matt whispered, placing a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to.” That brought Tom’s face up to meet his. 

“What do you mean you  _ didn’t mean to? _ ” Tom demanded. Matt shrugged.

“Exactly what it sounds like. I didn’t mean to dig up old memories, or press you too far. And I don’t really remember it, but I didn’t mean to kill your father,” Matt explained, looking more and more guilty as he spoke. Tom stared at Matt for a moment longer, before letting out a breath, leaning into his shoulder. Matt jumped, but awkwardly patted him on the back anyways, as Tom took a shuddering breath. 

“ _ Fuck.  _ I know Matt.” Tom closed his eyes and let himself relax right back into his mind, into dark eyes and dark clothes and a closed casket funeral. 

His mother was beautiful, but tears didn’t suit anyone’s face. 

And in the weeks following his dad’s death she cried an awful lot. Tom used to help her cooking because it was guaranteed that halfway through the meal she’d start crying. 

At the funeral however, she managed to stay stony-faced. She had cried most of her tears, and refused to break in public.

Tom couldn’t be quite as strong as her, sobbing as quietly as he could in the back of the funeral home. He distinctly remembered Edd had been there, in support of his friend. Tord had been there because their parents were friends and he wasn’t old enough to be left home alone. Neither Matt nor his mother were anywhere to be seen. 

Somehow, Tom wasn’t bitter about this. 

It was in the weeks following that he went to the therapist for the first time. 

Tom shuddered out a breath, pulling away from Matt. 

“Sorry for leaking on your shoulder,” Tom muttered, reaching down and grabbing his bottle of Smirnoff. As he took a swig, Matt asked another question. 

“What did you mean I  _ ‘didn’t even care’? _ ” Tom brought the bottle away from his lips, giving Matt a confused look. Matt scrambled to explain. “Earlier you said that I didn’t even care that it was my fault.” Tom furrowed his brows, before his face fell slack.

“Oh. Right. That’s… that’s a conversation for another night.”

Matt almost protests, but decides not to. The clock ticks to 4 AM. Tom sets his bottle of Smirnoff back on the ground. 

For a minute neither one speaks.

At around 4:05 Matt stands a mutters a goodnight. Tom hardly acknowledges him outside of a halfhearted wave. Matt takes two steps out of the living room, before turning and standing back in the entryway. 

“Hey Tom?” Tom glances over, once more half-lit by the TV. Matt doesn’t meet his eye and mutters, “Sorry I was such a shitty kid.” Tom blinks, then shrugs, turning away.

“It’s fine. You aren’t that kid anymore.” Matt blinks away the tears that are starting to form, instead turning to go back to his room.

The clock ticks 4:16. Tom leans his head back and lets himself stop thinking.


End file.
